


War-Weary

by IsobelSionisFalcone



Series: The General and the Bosmer [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 17:37:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12964797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsobelSionisFalcone/pseuds/IsobelSionisFalcone
Summary: General Tullius has been working far too hard. Marielle decides to help him relax.





	War-Weary

**Author's Note:**

> I received a comment suggesting that a series could come of my previous Tullius fic, so here begins the delving into my obsession with my favourite Imperial.

Castle Dour bled with the Nordic cold that made candle flames flicker restlessly, pages of open books turn as if read by some ghostly apparition, and raised hairs on the General's arms. If there was one thing that made Skyrim more miserable than the bloodshed, the poverty and the orphans, it was the damned cold. He sighed shortly as another flame was extinguished by an icy draft, dissappearing and leaving a thin, curling trail of smoke behind. He'd wasted far too many matches already. Not that he had a choice in completing the report; that the Emporor should have proof of their victory in statistical writing was evident.

Tullius leaned back in his chair, dropped the quill on his desk and stared at the stone ceiling. He was aching from sitting all day, aching for a certain little Bosmer in his exhaustion. Four long days made even longer by her absence. He had started to worry for her the more time she spent away. She may have been Dragonborn, but there was a distinct difference between taking down a rebel and having to slay one of those overgrown, winged lizards. To know she was safe would have put him at ease, but all he wanted was lie with her, to feel her pressed against his back as she exuded a warmth that travelled through his bones and chased away the cold of Skyrim.

The General had never considered himself to be a sentimental man. He certainly didn't allow himself to pine for Marielle, but when he heard the heavy stone doors creak open, he couldn't prevent the fluctuations in his heartbeat. Armoured footfalls echoed, heavy and still somehow retaining some amount of femininity. The dim light cast striking shadows across her angular face, amber eyes seemingly made larger by his current lack of vision. She smiled and he exhaled lightly in quiet relief, knowing that loving her came far too easily after their first night together.

"I trust you have good news?" he asked tiredly.

The wood elf chuckled softly. "Of course, sir," she said. "The rebel camp was swiftly dispatched. We won't have to worry about them attempting to resist Imperial control any longer."

"Good."

He watched her walk closer, hips swaying even beneath the armour. She removed her officer's helmet and placed it down gently on the desk, her long, auburn locks falling free and cascading down her back, like lashings of sweet honey.

Tullius gave a short hum as he ran his thumb over a new dent just over where her temple would have been. "You're lucky Balimund repaired this before you left."

"I always carry healing potions," she offered, pacing towards the back of his chair.

"That won't do you any good if you're already dead," the General cautioned.

He tilted his head back as she leaned down, closing his eyes as he surrendered his power to Marielle. He didn't need to be in control. Not then, not with her. She leaned over him and laid a trail of gentle, tender kisses down his forehead and nose to his lips, where he reciprocated with a soft moan.

"Did you miss me?" she whispered, her delicate hands resting on either side of his neck.

"More than I should have," Tullius replied. This position was no good for his neck, but he kissed her all the same and thankfully, Marielle dipped her head to take his earlobe between her teeth and he was able to straighten up.

"It's late," she purred, trailing her tongue down a little way to the sweet spot she knew all too well.

"It's imperative that I finish this report before sunup..."

Her hands dropped to his shoulders as she unfastened his cloak and breastplate. "You need sleep," Marielle told him, firmly massaging his tense muscles. She swayed him like this every time, persuasive to the last, able to break through the tough and trained military exterior. "The next ship doesn't leave until midday tomorrow, anyway. Plenty of time to finish in the morning."

Tullius gave a quiet moan. "Keep doing that, and I might just take you up on that offer."

The elf giggled. "Come to bed and I will."

The General conceded to her demands and rose at last, thankful that the clinking of their armour disguised his cracking joints as he moved, although he quite forgot that Marielle's ears were far more sensitive than his own.

"You've been sitting in that chair for far too long," she told him.

"Not nearly long enough, thanks to you," he accused with a terse half-smile. "You're a bad influence."

Once again, she laughed and he had to make an effort to control his breathing as the soft sound bounced around the stone room. He noticed that she always let him walk into the bedroom first, a sign of respect for her superior officer, even if they were romantically involved. She helped him strip down by moonlight, the cold beams slashing through the window and he returned the favour shortly after. Tullius made quick work of bolting the door and lay on the bed thereafter, the sheets bunched at his hips in a compromise with the less-than-friendly temperature.

Marielle straddled his waist and began her therapeutic massage, fingers pressing against his neck and shoulders first and the General was grateful for the warmth of her body. She wished she had brought some oil to aid the gliding of her hands over his skin, but he seemed to be enjoying it all the same, groaning and sighing softly beneath her. The knots in his muscles unwound and he descended into a state of semi-sleep, boneless as she worked the tension away. Her fingers dug into the meat beneath his shoulder blades, pulling a short moan from his lips as she soothed the soreness that had accumulated there.

With slow, decisive movements, she pressed her thumbs either side of his spine and worked downward, leaving no expanse of skin untouched. Tullius was sure that a healer couldn't have rid him of his discomfort as skilfully as this little Bosmer, her hands warm and soft against war-weary muscles.

After a long while, Marielle slid down onto his thighs to start on his lower back and he was positive he nearly lost consciousness, the aches and pains dissappearing. Tullius was no longer sure what he dreamt and what he really felt, letting the soothing, incredibly blissful sensations envelop him. He drifted in and out of sleep, low groans rising from his throat, sometimes deliberate, mostly an involuntary reaction. Her fingers neared the base of his spine and, had he a little more energy, the pleasant tingling that spread through his body would've probably caused another type of reaction, too.

Eventually, after Marielle had reduced him to a state of near unconsciousness, she lay next to him and pulled the bedsheets up over their bodies. She pressed her chest to his side in an attempt to share whatever body heat she could, listening to the deep and even breathing of her General. The Legate planted a gentle kiss on his shoulder before settling down, curling an arm over him as he gave a grateful sort of noise that rumbled from the back of his throat.

She had a way with people, Tullius thought as he slowly gave in to his weary body, especially him. She knew just what to say and do, how to make him feel sensations that had previously been buried so deeply that he hadn't even known they existed. Through the heavy daze of exhaustion, he found the strength to gather her to him, her head fitting perfectly into the crook of his neck. They would see the night roll by like that, caught in a gentle (and warm) embrace, forgetting the cold, the politics of war and the brewing storm the Dominion were keen to carry on fuelling. There here and now was just as important.

Marielle was becoming something like a thunderbolt, dropping her influence in blinding flashes and leaving the want, the need for more in her wake. Tullius had her, but he always wanted her, no matter what the weather, the time or place. There was something special about her that he couldn't quite place. Still, he supposed overthinking it would do him no good and so, at last, he surrendered to sleep, with Marielle's arms wrapped around his waist.


End file.
